


Put Your Back Into It

by ellipsometry



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Rough Sex, accidental feelings, not really a college AU but takes place in college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: The last thing Oikawa expected when he and Bokuto started sleeping together was for the wing spiker to be hesitant in bed.Their “friends-and-teammates-with-benefits” situation had evolved over time, and it was still awkward, the two of them together.  Nevertheless, Oikawa was pretty sure no one could blame him for being surprised that Bokuto – the certified Loudest Person on the Planet, built like a fucking Greek god, possessor of the largest biceps Oikawa has ever seen on a human being – was inherently and preternaturally gentle in bed.





	Put Your Back Into It

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't edit or proofread this just go with it

_That’s the spirit_ , Oikawa thinks, when Bokuto finally grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling so hard that the setter lets out a guttural moan, back arching painfully.

As with most things that Bokuto Koutarou does, the way he’s fucking Oikawa is far from subtle.  There’s no holding back in the harsh way he thrusts against Oikawa’s ass, the possessive way he bites Oikawa’s neck, unwarned, leaving a reddened mark behind.  For his part, Oikawa could care less.  In fact, he would be more than comfortable with Bokuto treating him even more roughly, if only to finally dissolve the remaining awkwardness in the air.

“You’re – _guh –_ always so fuckin’ tight,” Bokuto is breathless, nearly snarling into the nape of Oikawa’s neck, the wetness of his lips tracing the shell of the setter’s ear.  The tone of his voice alone makes Oikawa shiver with want, and he braces his forearms against the futon, pushing his ass back against Bokuto’s cock.

“Then you should stretch me out, huh?” Oikawa rasps.

As usual, Oikawa gets what he wants.  Bokuto renews his efforts, peeling his chest off Oikawa’s back and instead gripping the other boy’s thighs with white knuckles, thrusting with abandon.  The way Bokuto’s massive hands fit into the crease between Oikawa’s thighs and his torso is almost too perfect, and Oikawa is salivating just thinking about the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow.

One particularly aggressive thrust sends Oikawa jolting forward, fingers scrambling for purchase in the sheets, to no avail.  Instead he finds himself sailing face-first into the bedroom wall, face colliding with the drywall, nose first.

“Fuck—Oikawa, ‘r you okay?”

“Don’t—“ Oikawa groans, holding a hand back to keep Bokuto at bay, “D-Don’t pull out.”

To emphasize his point, Oikawa clenches his ass, and Bokuto makes a garbled, choked-off noise, “Oy, are you nuts?  You’re bleeding.”

Oikawa does feel a slight throb in his nose, and when he wipes a hand down his face, he finds that he is indeed bleeding.  Just a nosebleed, certainly not a break – he’s gotten enough volleyballs to the face to know that _that_ feels like.  Later, for sure, he’ll give Bokuto hell about the whole thing, but at the moment Oikawa is simply too entranced with the smear of bright crimson on his hand, the way it drips onto the snow-white sheets.  He feels his heartrate skyrocket.

“Koutarou, just—please—“ Oikawa strains his neck, twisting his body so he can capture Bokuto’s lips in a messy, hasty kiss.  Bokuto is hesitant at first, lips trembling (with guilt, likely), but the kiss steadily deepens, until Bokuto regains steam and starts thrusting shallowly into Oikawa once again.

“Shit,” Oikawa pulls back slightly, eyes rolling back in his head because _there, right there_.  The thick stretch of Bokuto’s cock, the head pressing right up against his prostate, the bloody tang of metallic he can taste on Bokuto’s lips – it’s all too much all at once.

Bokuto’s name is on his lips like a prayer, and Oikawa is chanting nonsensically, trying in vain to grind his weeping cock against the futon below.  He’s not having any luck with that; Bokuto keeps Oikawa’s hips elevated, driving into him with renewed purpose, drawing out a new cacophony of sounds from Oikawa’s body – the slapping of skin, the whimpers of need, the slick sound of his hand on Oikawa’s cock.

It’s not long till Oikawa is coming into Bokuto’s hand, immediately collapsing, boneless tired.

“Use me, Koutarou,” he whispers, voice hoarse, elevating his hips just enough so that Bokuto can slip back into Oikawa’s wet, used hole.  It’s another five or ten minutes before Bokuto comes, his own orgasm noisy as always.

They really should shower right away, but Oikawa is dead tired and his head is throbbing.  Before Oikawa slips into sleep, Bokuto presses a kiss to his forehead, so soft Oikawa thinks he might have missed it entirely.

 

 

The last thing Oikawa expected when he and Bokuto started sleeping together was for the wing spiker to be hesitant in bed.

Their “friends-and-teammates-with-benefits” situation had evolved over time, and it was still awkward, the two of them together.  Nevertheless, Oikawa was pretty sure no one could blame him for being surprised that Bokuto – the certified Loudest Person on the Planet, built like a fucking Greek god, possessor of the largest biceps Oikawa has ever seen on a human being – was inherently and preternaturally gentle in bed.

When bottoming, Bokuto seemed to have no problem letting go of his inhibitions.  Just a word and he was pleased to let Oikawa flip him, fold him, and bend him over the nearest surface, fucking him until he was strung out and overstimulated to hell and back.

With the roles reversed, however…

“You’re not going to hurt me, you know,” Oikawa had said early on in their dalliance.  Bokuto was marveling at the smooth skin of Oikawa’s thighs, rough palms memorizing every curve.

When Oikawa tried to express to Bokuto that he _wanted_ to be treated roughly, that he _like_ being tossed around a bit and fucked within an inch of his life.

“I’ve never…” Bokuto had frowned, looking the most dejected Oikawa had ever seen him.

“Well… you’re a quick learner right?”

And so Bokuto, eager as always, had indeed turned out to be a quick learner.  Oikawa, in turn, had learned to relish the extreme harshness of a top-class spiker’s hand smacking ass red, and Bokuto’s nearly boundless stamina.

“You’ve gotten pretty good,” Oikawa muses, once he’s out of the shower and cleansed of blood and cum both.

“I nearly killed you!” Bokuto wails, reaching out to grip Oikawa’s hand, “We’re never doing it near a wall ever again!”

“Calm down, Bokkun, I didn’t even get a bruise,” Oikawa taps the bridge of his nose, which is remarkably unscathed, “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Fine,” Bokuto huffs, “Hey, you want to get food after I shower?”

He’s already halfway into the shower, leaving Oikawa no room to really deny him.  He _had_ been planning to slip out while Bokuto was cleaning up, foregoing the post-coital conversations and the awkward goodbye.

It was, what, nearly six months ago that they started sleeping together?  And yet every movement between them outside of the volleyball court was still ever-so-stilted.  Oikawa really did enjoy spending time with Bokuto, and they got along great, but the sex added something strange to the equation of their friendship that Oikawa wasn’t quite ready to puzzle out yet.

Bokuto straight out of the shower looks like a massive wet dog, hair falling in his eyes and water dampening the light patch of hair on his chest, “Indian food?” he says hopefully.

“Oh yeah, you wanted to try that new place,” Oikawa doesn’t know why he remembers that, a fragment of a months-old conversation.

“Yeah!  But Kuroo never wants to get Indian.”

Oikawa scoffs, “It’s because Testu-chan cries every time he eats something remotely spicy.”

They order in, eat with the speed and ferocity of two young men who just burned an insane number of calories in bed, and by the time Oikawa checks the time, it’s already past midnight.

“Shit…”

“You should just stay over,” Bokuto says, almost too quickly, “I put on clean sheets and everything.  No blood or unmentionable fluids.  It’s… that’s cool, right?”

Oikawa has never actually spent the night with Bokuto.  Or, at least, not intentionally, and not without sneaking out in the wee hours of the morning.  Deep down he knows he’s afraid of waking up next to Bokuto, afraid of what that will mean for both of them.  But Oikawa would probably die before admitting that to himself, let alone out loud.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says flippantly, “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“Yeah!!” Bokuto cheers, “I know you like the left side, I like the right side.  So, we match!”

Oikawa eyes Bokuto, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “Sure, sure.  I think I’ll turn in now, then.”

“Okay… okay!” Bokuto looks a bit nervous, “I have a… um, I have to clean some dishes.  Akaashi will kill me if I leave them out again after how gross it got last time so… I’ll come to bed after.”

Bokuto’s behavior is odd (well, odd _er_ than usual), but Oikawa shrugs it off, nestling under the covers, passing out the moment his head hits the pillow.

Maybe an hour later Oikawa, head fuzzy with sleep, feels a weight shift on the other side of the futon.  Bokuto climbs into bed next to him, reaching out for Oikawa and lacing his arms around the smaller boy’s torso.  Oikawa makes a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat and nuzzles his head into the crook of Bokuto’s neck.

Bokuto’s arms are warm and encompassing as ever, and Oikawa has what might be the best night of sleep in his life.


End file.
